


a pardon of what knows (push pull remix)

by Ladymercury_10



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Awkward Relationships, F/M, Post-Season 2, Remix, remix madness 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladymercury_10/pseuds/Ladymercury_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She and Jake have been through dozens of cases together, but nothing feels quite how she remembers it. Not since they kissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a pardon of what knows (push pull remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [htbthomas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Moral Support](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2303939) by [htbthomas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas). 



> htbthomas, your story jumped out at me and I couldn't resist! I hope you enjoy the remix. :)
> 
> Spoilers for the Season 2 finale. Title from Purity Ring.

It's not—it shouldn't be a big deal. Amy's been to court so many times she's almost lost count. Almost, but not quite—that's why god made spreadsheets, after all. But the number's not important. What's important is that it shouldn't rattle her like this. What's important is she shouldn't have to keep taking her ponytail down and combing it back up because a hair is out of place. What's important is she's dying for a cigarette and she can't go to court smelling like an ashtray and why the hell does she want one so badly anyway? She pulls out all her bobby pins and tries the ponytail one last time. Her hands are actually shaking, and it takes her three tries to wrap the elastic properly. "Come on, Santiago," she says to her reflection, trying to channel just a little of Gina's swagger. "You got this. NBD, betch."

It's not convincing. Amy sighs, letting her breath fog up the mirror. She watches herself cloud, then disappear, then she turns and walks out of the bathroom.

*

There are three cigarettes left in the pack at the bottom of her drawer, hidden under the special camisoles and lacy bras she hasn't had a chance to wear for months. She's not going to smoke those cigarettes, but that means she has to find some other way to occupy her hands. She lines up all her bottles of nail polish and squints at them before selecting a shell pink that is both cheerful and court-appropriate. But the polish is too thick, or too thin, or too _something_ , and she can't get it to come out right. The coats are uneven. The brush keeps slipping in her hand. By the time she gives up she has almost as much polish on the sides of her fingers as she does on her nails. Fine. It's not like she really has time to let it dry anyway. She reaches for the remover and scrapes the polish away.

Her nail beds burn as she pours her cup of coffee, and honestly she should have waited until after breakfast to even try fooling with the polish, but this case is just screwing her six ways from Sunday. She can't figure it out. It's not the evidence—she's double- and triple-checked everything they collected. It's not the case itself—nothing about it was particularly violent or upsetting, and she isn't intimidated by the defendant. And it's not even the judge, although, yeah, Judge Norton is supposed to be a real hardass. Maybe it's just Amy. Maybe she's just unsettled, lately. She goes to the same office every day to sit at the same desk, but nothing feels quite how she remembers it. She and Jake have been through dozens of cases together, but they haven't been to court since Captain Holt left. And not since—since they kissed, and Amy doesn't want to think about that right now, or really, it's all she wants to think about right now, and if she thinks about that it'll be like drowning. Maybe that's what she's afraid of more than anything, of having to sit next to her partner and swear before a judge that her testimony matches his, knowing all along that there's this other thing, this secret between them.

Amy spills coffee down the front of her blouse and curses. It's not even really that it hurts—the coffee pot’s been sitting out for the better part of an hour—it's just the stupidity of the whole thing. That costs her an extra fifteen minutes, because the only other blouse that's both nice enough for court and currently clean does not match her trousers, which means she has to iron the pinstripe pants instead, which means she has to go with shorter heels and oh god, she's never getting out of her apartment if she keeps this up. The coffee is cold by the time she's finished changing, and her oatmeal has congealed into a slimy mess. She bolts the coffee and slams the door on her way out.

(She comes back and shuts it properly, but still.)

*

Despite her wardrobe malfunctions, Amy is still twenty minutes early for court. They didn't vote her "Most Punctual" in tenth grade for nothing. But that just means twenty extra minutes to be anxious. She sits on a bench in the hallway and spreads her palms on the smooth wood. Thinks very hard about not biting her nails. It would be wildly unprofessional, and if that were not reason enough, they also taste strongly of acetone. (She had a momentary lapse in appropriate behavior while waiting for a light to change. It happens.) She leans back against the wall and closes her eyes, just for a moment. Really, it’s more like blinking slowly than actually napping.

Still, it startles her to hear her name. "Hey, Santiago," Jake repeats, giving a little wave when she looks up at him. Jake is never early. Amy scrambles for her phone, terrified she'll find out she slept through the beginning of her own case.

"Chillax," Jake says. "We've still got, like, fifteen minutes to kill. At least. Even ol’ Nana Norton can't complain about that."

"Nana?" Amy says, still a little dazed.

"She’s like nine hundred years old and she complains about everything. Stuff even real grandmas don't mind. Like eating."

"Jake, you're not supposed to eat in the courtroom."

He narrows his eyes briefly. "I should have known you'd take her side."

"I'm not! No food is an actual rule, Peralta."

"And _that_ is why people hate court," he says, punctuating it with a little nod.

He's annoying her. She shouldn't—doesn't—enjoy watching him. His weird little gestures, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. "That's not—" she starts, but something about this is making her tired and edgy all at once. As if she needed help in that department. She shrugs. "Okay," she says, finally.

Jake sounds disappointed. "Okay? That's the best you can do?"

"Title of your sex tape." As soon as she’s said it, she wants to take it back. What happened to Miss Appropriate? She made out with her partner behind a box of files, and it's like ever since they kissed she doesn't know the right thing to say anymore, the right thing to do. Everything that used to be funny is serious now. Everything means something different than it used to.

Jake makes a face halfway between a triumphant smile and a grimace. It shouldn’t be possible to make a face like that, but somehow he manages. “Okay,” he says. “I kiiind of want to be proud of you for making that joke, and by kind of, I mean totally. Like, 110%.  But Norton can hear like a friggin’ bat, and I feel like that’s not how the new captain should find out about our, you know.” He leans forward and mouths, “Our thing.” 

"Oh my god," Amy says.

 “It’s fine.” Jake waves her off.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

“Amy,” he says, sitting down beside her. “It’s whatever. Forget about it.”

“Oh my god,” she says again. "I don't know what's wrong with me." She drops her voice to a whisper-shout. "We're in public, we're in court, what if someone found out that we, we—"

"Amy, stop." Jake stares at her until she meets his eyes. "We're cool."

Amy stares back at him, biting down hard on her lip. This is what she was afraid of. This. This secret. It’s like she broke one rule, and now she can’t even remember what the other ones _were_. Amy likes rules. She misses rules. It's exhausting to be guessing all the time.

She looks away first, and she thinks that’s the end of it, for today at least. They’ll sit side by side in court, a safe distance apart. Look at each other no more than necessary. Be cordial when they speak, but never more than that. Definitely no joking. Partners, no more and no less.

That’s what she thinks, but then Jake moves his knee just a little closer to hers. Puts his hand over hers, not quite holding it, just resting on top. She's not expecting it at all, and she almost snatches her hand back in surprise. “We’re cool,” he says again. Casually, like this is just what partners do.

She should not be cool with this. She should do something. Anyone could catch them. But there's no one else in this part of the hall, and there won’t be for several minutes at least. There’s nothing to overhear, and really, what's there to see? What about this isn’t allowed? They aren't even holding hands, not really. Jake's thumb moves against the back of her hand, and Amy moves her own in response. His palm feels warm and slightly rough against her knuckles. After a moment, she realizes that she's stopped shaking, that the edgy feeling is softening just a little.

Maybe she doesn't know the rules. Maybe there's still a secret to keep. But maybe it’s not just about hiding something, but holding it close to herself.

She could learn to work with that.


End file.
